Crossroads
by 8inchCaliper
Summary: Andrew and Monica chat, play... and define parameters. Lots of Angst. Although I have written Andrew/Monica before, I consider this to be my "essential Monica/Andrew fic". Not as syrupy as the first one I wrote but far tamer than some of the others...


It was winter and bitter cold near Utah as Monica pondered the white dove resting on her palm. He considered her and cooed once or twice before flying off in a bit of a tizzy. When she turned her red head towards the vast and peaceful horizon, she saw the reason why. The angel of Death approached, wearing his long formal coat and trademark scarf. He smiled, and although he was an angel, he looked cold.

He perched on the edge of the bench near her and rubbed his hands together, warming them inside their gloves.

"I love this place." He said, focusing his hazel eyes on her. "So much like home. Minus the cold."

She nodded, a small smile on her lips. "Yes, it is."

"I finished an assignment several miles from here and thought I'd come over and say hello."

She pushed her dark red hair from her face and regarded him. "I'm glad you did." She was always happy to see Andrew. His presence soothed her, lulled her into a kind of trance. His handsome face was like home, a beacon of light and hope. In this way, he was perfectly suited for his line of work.

He looked at her and nodded. Once again, he was taken in by her soft brown eyes, ironically the color of terra forma. She was so celestial, this human form could barely contain her, but somehow she managed. Most people who were actually looking, could see that she was otherworldly the moment she stepped foot into the room. There was an aura about her that was contradictory to her surroundings; her being on Earth at all was shaky ground. She was the absolute definition of an angel.

Now the cold wind played in her hair, sending a cold shiver up her spine. She looked at Andrew, and they both knew it was time to find shelter. They were immune to the elements, but their human bodies would be frostbitten within the hour.

Nearby, there was a ski-lodge and they checked in, wearing sweaters and scarves. Andrew wasn't all that interested in skiing and Monica thought she might just as well sit inside the small café and have a warm cocoa. She'd already had enough of the cold weather.

As they sat facing one another in a cozy booth, Monica warmed her hands around her mug as Andrew more or less toyed with his. Against Tess' better judgment, Monica had taken a liking to earthly pleasures like food and coffee, but Andrew was less inclined to indulge. He just didn't care all that much for it. He was generally people driven and did human things only for show. He only slept when he'd absolutely pushed his body as far as it could go before total collapse, and he only ate when his stomach became a distraction to him. He drank plenty of water otherwise and kept himself focused on the task at hand. Right now, that was the angel sitting across from him.

Monica captivated him so much; she kept him laughing, or at the very least, smiling. When she was hurt or troubled, he felt upset at whatever or whoever had put her in that state, and he felt genuine concern for her. He wanted to fold her in his arms and shelter her forever. She was so innocent and pure in so many ways – like a child. Her existence baffled him to no end.

"So, are you on an assignment right now?" he finally broke the silence. "Or… just hanging around bus stops for pleasure?"

She smiled at his joke. "I knew you were in the area, so I waited for you."

"You could have just called."

"I knew you were busy." She took a sip of the hot beverage, and then glanced out the window at the snow-covered mountains. She was contemplative.

"Still, I would have come." He turned his gaze to what she was looking at, the wind blowing through the pine trees, making them bow their heads a bit, snow falling from their tops and into the piles of it already below. "You can always call for me."

She smiled at him and put down her mug. Her small pale hands were so near to his larger ones on the table. She placed one of hers on top of his and heard him exhale softly. It was nearly inaudible, but she knew him well enough to notice the subtle change in his breathing. Her brown eyes met his and she noticed how dark they were right now, in the dim lighting of this room. Few people even knew they were green, but she knew. She had seen the green in all its different hues, sometimes like the fronds of a baobab tree, still and proud in the sun or like the algae at the edge of the sea, drifting towards eternity.

She couldn't recall when she realized she loved him, but now it was so strong within her that she could barely contain it. It wasn't like the love she felt for Tess or any other angel for that matter. It wasn't like the love she felt for humanity, although it was much like the love humans felt for each other. In heaven, Angels were little more than spirits, drifting together harmoniously, points of light. On Earth, to give a face to what it was, to make it tangible to humans, they were given form. She loved Andrew's spirit as well as she loved his form. It was so intense sometimes that she had to take a step back from it, to examine it with objective eyes.

Removing her hand from his she smiled at him and took a deep breath. "Do you see much of Tess?"

Andrew swallowed and kept his voice level.

"Occasionally. We worked together recently on a case. I don't want to bore you with the details…"

"I'm never bored, Andrew. Is Tess well?" Monica was eager to hear anything about Tess since she hadn't seen her mentor and mother figure in several years. "Does she ask about me?"

Andrew nodded vigorously. "Of course she asks about you. She talks about you all the time. She's so proud of you."

Monica beamed from the inside. "I don't think I could have made it this far without Tess. There's never been anyone else like her." She grinned. "Does she still have that wee dog?"

Andrew laughed softly, loving the sound of Monica's accent that had grown slightly subtler over the years. "She's entrusted him to Gloria now, but those two are a match made in heaven – literally."

They both had a chuckle at that, the thought of that mischievous little scamp and Gloria, the sweetly analytical angel together and causing mayhem wherever they went. And then Andrew cocked his head at her. "So, are you on vacation now or…"

Monica shrugged. "I've been given the option of a vacation, but I didn't want to be alone, so I thought of working through it."

Now Andrew's eyes turned intense. "Angel girl, you never have to be alone. You know that."

She nodded. "I know."

When he reached across the table to hold her hands in his, she flinched slightly. She hadn't been prepared for his touch, his large warm hands holding hers, caressing the cool fingers with his hypnotic thumbs drawing circles on the skin. Chill bumps traveled up her body and she found she couldn't meet his eyes.

"What are you thinking about?" his voice was soft but lightly probing. She didn't want to tell him.

"My next assignment." She said casually.

"No. That's not it." He said. "I know you and I know you're a terrible liar." He hastened to add. "And that's a good thing. If you were good at it, I'd be worried."

She smiled and tried to relax. "I'm… thinking that it's getting late. I should go to sleep."

He smirked at her and continued to hold her hands in his. "You do that a lot. Sleep, drink coffee, nibble things… stuff that's not really necessary."

She blushed and pulled her hands out of his busying them by straightening the napkins on the table. "You should try it." She murmured. "You might like it."

"Some human things I like." He said in a soft voice as a group of people walked past their table. "I like trains. I like… movies and books."

She nodded her agreement. "Yes. Those are fun human things."

"You want to know what I don't like?"

She nodded, suddenly riveted.

"Okay, one thing I hate is crossroads." He paused for effect as her brown eyes stared into him, pierced him. She was transfixed. "I hate them because there's always some monumental decision to make. Do I go left or right? Up or down? Something is always irreversibly changed because of a simple decision like that. And sometimes its something so little… one little decision."

Monica pondered his words. "But everything could be reduced to a crossroads, Andrew. Everything we do in life is a decision we've made. And sometimes the outcome is a splendid and beautiful thing."

"Yes, but that's the risk." He shrugged, his green eyes drifting.

"I've never seen you like this." Her voice was soft, meditative. She thought maybe he was overworked or at the very least, in need of something uplifting. It was too bad that Tess wasn't around to sing one of her deep, heartfelt songs or offer the both of them some much needed soulful advice. That always put them in better spirits. Then again, maybe what Andrew needed wasn't something simple or easy. She pondered him as he spoke.

"I've thought a lot about you." He said in a light voice. "I missed our times together."

She nodded and felt a strange warmth spreading through her at his words. It wasn't normal to feel this way. Andrew had been her friend for a while now, and she wasn't sure what was happening to their relationship, but it felt like it was turned on its axis. She was above it, examining it as if from the sky.

"It's a heavy burden we carry." He said, his voice anchoring her. "Sometimes, it's… extremely heavy."

"Yes," Monica agreed, "but I wouldn't give it up for anything."

He met and held her gaze, pondering the alternative. "Like humanity."

A shiver went through her. "Yes, like humanity."

"Do you ever get the feeling we've been around them so long that we're in danger of becoming one?"

Monica's laugh was soft. "I don't think that could ever be, Andrew."

His shrug was casual as he smiled. "I don't know. We're so in tune with them now, maybe there are some habits we have or some ways we behave that are so natural we don't even realize it anymore."

"Like my love of coffee?"

He laughed. "Yeah. That's one."

"And other things, too…" Monica said before she could censor her thoughts. The blush that rose to her face gave her away. Sometimes, she hated the confines of the human body. She hated the responses that she couldn't control. She could deflect extreme conditions like wind and fire, but she couldn't stop the emotions that came from within, like the feeling that came over her as she looked into his eyes, strong and unexpected like the wash of ocean water across unsuspecting toes. She was an angel, not a human – but she was powerless against Andrew's celestial splendor. In that sense, he was so much bigger than her.

"Yes," he answered, his voice grave, "other things too."

She looked around, suddenly afraid of her thoughts. "Andrew, lets go someplace warmer."

He nodded. "Okay. Anyplace you want."

And in the next instant, Monica appeared on an Egyptian landscape, her hair flyaway in the sandy dusty air. Her small pale hand shielded her eyes from the blazing intensity of the sun. She was wearing a white cotton dress that was loose about the shoulders and already her white skin was coloring in the sun. Her body tanned very well to be so fair.

Behind her, he was dressed in khaki, his blond hair lifting lightly off his face in the dry wind. He turned to her and smiled, and she liked the fact that he was so near.

"I've always wanted wings, Andrew." She threw out offhandedly.

He chuckled. "But you don't need them."

Her nod was slow. "Why do the humans depict us that way? With wings and halos?"

Andrew shrugged. "It's always been that way."

She pondered that then looked off into the distance. "I like this place. It's lovely." She watched as a camel passed them, its owner a small child. The animal glanced towards them, linked eyes with Monica and continued on its pathway. The child was oblivious of their existence.

"I love children, Andrew."

He came close to her, rested his hands on her shoulders. "So do I. They're so special and so perfect. A true testament to God's faith in humanity."

Monica looked into his eyes, loving him more and more with every passing moment. "I love how you put it, Andrew. You make everything so beautiful."

"I've been here a lot longer than you, Angel girl, and I have developed a deep appreciation for the simpler things in life." He liked being this close to her, liked inhaling her heavenly scent, lilac and vanilla bean. He could live inside it and never tire of it.

When she turned, they were facing each other, his hands fallen to his sides. They stared into one another's eyes and sought out each other's angelic soul. It was powerful, even to an angel. She was the first to look away.

"How would you like to play a game?" he asked, out of the blue, the innocence in his tone warring with the subtext of the inquiry.

Monica picked up on it and flushed slightly. "What kind of game?"

"How well do you know me?"

She shrugged, folding her arms. "Pretty well."

"Okay then. Where would I go if I wanted a drink?"

She grinned at him and lowered her lids and when she looked up again, he was gone. She looked vaguely put upon, but her smile widened. In another instant, she was gone as well, vanished into thin air.

Thousands of miles away, the angel of death stood on a sloping cliff at the edge of the Niagara. The wind was rushing so fast that his hair was flying behind him, but he waited patiently for her, knowing she would come. She always knew where to find him or she had some innate sense that told her he was near. He suspected this came from years of knowing one another.

Several moments later, she came walking out of the spray, a vision to behold in flowing light blue dress, her wavy red hair damp and long and flowing about her shoulders. She looked like a river goddess and Andrew's voice caught in his throat. It wasn't the first time she had effectively rendered him speechless.

She came close to him, within inches and let a slow smile spread across her face. "I found you. Do I win?"

He simply stared at her, his face impassive while inside his soul sang. Something in her dark eyes, her light spirit, filled him up with gladness. Her face bordered on the sublime.

And then he was receiving a call from the heavens...

"Monica…" his face was regretful. "…I, I have to go…"

And he was climbing up off the ravine. He held her hand in his, briefly, before taking off into the horizon, his form disappearing almost instantly.

Monica felt a deep sense of sadness as she watched him go. She knew it was for a good reason, but she still wished they had more time together. Andrew was very dutiful and always took care of his assignments. They were very lucky to have him, in fact. A small part of her envied the humans who got to be so close to him.

It was dusk as he arrived on the scene, dressed down, in street clothes. This was a shabby back alley in the dimmest Brooklyn neighborhood, painted in graffiti. He blended in very well, even in the harshest situations – and lately, there was so much death it numbed him in a way he didn't like to admit. He was finally, after all these centuries, becoming desensitized to it.

A body lay before him, writhing in pain, gunned down by a street thug. He hesitated before he knelt before him, resting a warm hand on the forehead. He was filled with heaven's light and revealed as an angel though he said nothing, only looked down at the dying youth at his feet.

"I-I'm scared!"

Andrew exhaled and smiled sadly. "You're not alone."

"W-whats going to happen to me?" the voice came out like a bark, the harsh scratch of an adolescence cry. The boy was barely fourteen. Andrew shook his head, slowly.

"Don't be afraid. You're going home, now." He watched as young eyes filled with water, realization washing over him. The bullet lodged inside him was almost painless, his lithe body numb but shivering with cold.

The boy shook his head, frantic, clinging to Andrew, clinging to death. And then he was still. Andrew stared deep into the brown orbs, searching for an answer to this senseless crime. He couldn't find it, but then he didn't expect to.

After he had taken the boy to his place in heaven, he returned to Earth and continued to walk the darkened streets. The deep regret he felt was contrary to the way he should feel, as an angel, a messenger of God. He didn't know how to block it out or move past it, which was why it was difficult to define his feelings these days or even his place in the world. Sometimes, the lines got blurry. He thought of her, surrounded by goodness and grace. Then he thought of the world and all its atrocities. It was such a contrast that he had to stop and catch his breath.

The sound behind him didn't startle him so much as it ached him to his core. He turned to see her there, glowing for him, her light so bright it caused his eyes to fill with water. He shook his head.

"Why did you come here, Monica?"

Her beauty was striking, immediate and difficult to face head on. Her heart went out to him. "You looked like you needed an angel."

He could scarcely manage a small smile. "I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything, Andrew."

He sauntered towards her, then, and she stood her ground and took him into her arms when he was near enough. They held each other close against the darkness of the world, shielding one another. Her hands were in his soft blond hair, stroking him to contentment as his face buried in the exquisite place where her neck and shoulder met.

He murmured something against her warm skin and she caressed his head, marveling in the feel of him, the warmth of him. The street lamp seemed broken compared to the light they emitted, and then she was pulling back looking up into his face. There was an intensity in his eyes she had never seen before and it frightened but also intrigued her.

His hands reached up to cradle her face, smallest fingers brushing her ear lobes adorned in the purest diamonds. He held her stationary, staring into her, staring past the human body and into the angel herself. Monica's skin flushed with heat as he brought his mouth down to hers, so gently, so slowly. His kiss caused a rupture inside her, caused her to come unraveled.

This was the sort of thing Tess had always warned against or at least hinted at. She had prevented this closeness from early on, knowing they would be attracted to one another. Now, without her motherly intervention, they were left to their own devices, alone without supervision, children being disobedient – but Monica didn't understand how something so pure could be wrong.

Her eyes slipped shut of their own accord as her head tilted back, his mouth moving away and then coming back, drinking from her - and if not for his steady hands holding her up, she might have fallen.

"Andrew," she heard herself sigh, and he gave her a moment to recover, gave himself a moment.

"Forgive me."

She shook her head in protest, her hand resting on his shoulder. "No, never apologize for this. It's… so lovely."

And he took this opportunity to appraise her, to caress the endless deep red locks of her hair, to gaze upon her fair façade. She looked to be made of pearl, so fine and rare. He touched her face with his gentle fingertips, dragged them lightly across her brow, finely arched, her cheekbone, her delicate mouth. He had longed to touch her in this way, but never wanted to cross that line.

"Is this romantic love, Andrew?" her voice was light as a feather as he smiled at her.

"I think that goes without saying."

She leaned into his touch as he continued to caress her. In spite of herself, she wanted more. "Andrew, I…" she didn't know what came next.

"I feel the same way." His voice tickled a secret place in her lower belly. Again, she found herself cursing this human body. It brought on too many feelings, physical and emotional. She didn't know how many times she had cried in this form, and Andrew made her experience all kinds of other feelings she couldn't pinpoint – but she liked them. Just like a small part of her enjoyed the crying, enjoyed the release.

They were inches apart and she found herself wanting his mouth on her again, wanting his taste. She held her hand above his heart, felt the strength of it beating against her palm. For an instant, she focused on that until his finger lifted her chin, made her meet his gaze. The question hovered in the air between them.

In another instant, they were in a familiar place, home. The soft billowy ground was strange to her human feet as she took tentative steps towards nowhere and everywhere. He was nearby; she could sense him. And then his hands were on her, tugging her lightly towards him, their mouths meshing in perfect crescendo.

The sweet sound she emanated at the back of her throat made him that much hungrier for her, but he pulled back, his boyish face intense.

"Monica, I…" he paused, caught his breath, "…I don't want to make you do anything…"

"I want to do this." she affirmed, pressing close to him. "I don't know why, but it feels…"

"…so right…" he finished the thought for her, his eyes slipping shut at the prospect of knowing her in that way.

She touched his face, fingertips dancing across his eyelids then into the soft silky wheat locks of his hair. And when he couldn't stand it any longer, he lifted her into his arms and held her impossibly close.

The scene shifted as they stared into each other's eyes, drinking in the sight of one another until she brought her face close and kissed his mouth, caressing his lips with her own. The sparkling glen belonged to Earth and it was where he lay her down and caressed her face, sliding his hands through the deep red satin of her hair as it cascaded around them.

She opened her eyes to take in the surroundings, the two of them reclined on the emerald green hill, sloping down away from an ancient Celtic castle, indigenous and proud, a spring babbling in the near distance. "Ireland…" she whispered.

He nodded, but his face was grave. "You recall the crossroads I spoke of before…"

She looked into his eyes. "Yes, Andrew. Of course I do."

"Then you know how apprehensive I feel right now."

Her smile was understanding but also telling. She lay back on the grass, her hair fanned out around her, her arms open, waiting. "I give myself to you." Her voice was like a soft coo, a whisper, a secret between friends, and he had to quiet the instinct inside him that told him to take her gift, to ignore the pressing fear.

"What if it's the wrong decision?" his gaze was intense as he restrained himself from pouncing, the need to want to make love with her coming from some primal place inside him that didn't even belong to him but rather the human body he inhabited. Still, he agreed with that small voice that wanted to become one with her. After all, angels were made from the blueprint of humans, capable of love, capable of fear and trust and countless other emotions that defined the race.

He considered all the options, which really only came down to two choices: to do this thing or not – but her beckoning cocoa eyes made the decision for him, and he found himself holding onto her in the familiar way, cradling her body to his, nuzzling the secret places on her that he had always longed to explore – even when his angelic proclivities were blind to her beauty and her sexuality. He thanked God for the opportunity to know this kind of love and to be able to experience it for himself.

They changed places like most people changed wardrobe, trying on Marrakech and then Rome and Hawaii. He liked the way her body felt and molded to black sand, beneath a raging waterfall, her white skin flushed with heat as he explored her and drove her to the breaking point.

He marveled in the noises she made as he pressed into her, became one with her, clinged to her and let her cling to him. The feel of her hands on his bare skin was like nothing he had ever imagined; the humans never quite put it into so many words he could understand, the way bodies fit together, the friction it caused and the feeling of coming so close to catching fire.

She tossed her head back, her full mouth whispering to him, singing his praises as his hands learned the curve of her belly, her back, her hip. It was as though she was created to receive him, and he, for his part, could barely remain conscious through it all. It was like a year of making love. For an angel, something like this could take one human lifetime.

And when they finally collapsed together, a damp tangled mess of spent souls, they were so near to vacating these frail human bodies, but she shook her head, her smile weak but breathtaking.

"No, Andrew. I want to stay like this. For as long as we can."

His blonde hair fell across his brow as he nodded and held her body close to his, a sheen of perspiration making her shine like a gem beneath the setting sun. He lay his hand in the curve of her narrow waist, caressing her like a worry stone, hypnotizing her into sleep. And when the sun sank beneath the clouds, shrouding them in Earth's twilight, he pondered the decision they had made, the lines they had crossed – and he felt at peace with it.

End


End file.
